


Genius

by Cloverbomb (orphan_account)



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: AU, College, F/F, Magic, Neighbors, Science, bechloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:59:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5014489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cloverbomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is Chloe Beale to do when her neighbor ends up being much less than normal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Pitch Perfect, its characters, nor the songs/literature used.

Chloe doesn’t want diamonds. She doesn’t want rubies.

 

All Chloe wants is sleep. To rest her head, close her heavy eyes, and knock out until she wakes with a headache from sleeping _too_ much.

 

(And yeah, sure, maybe diamonds and rubies are nice too, but her sanity is ranking first place at the moment.)

 

That's all.

 

But - of course - the universe has its way of making sure most of Chloe's wishes are left to wither away like a plant without water. Often, it grants her with the exact _opposite_ of what she wants instead. But, who is she to question whichever greater being it is who’s spending their valuable time trying to get her to shake her fist towards the heavens in anger? Only, she never allows said greater being the satisfaction. She considers herself to be blessed with eternal optimism, and even after getting an average of four hours of sleep per night, she still makes sure to jump out of bed every day, welcoming the day with a glowing complexion.

 

What can she say? It’s a gift; and it sure as hell makes life much more enjoyable.

 

“Hothouse” by 78Violet had jerked her awake around six-thirty that morning, and she spent the first half of her day attending classes: two hours in Creative Writing I and one and a half godforsaken hours in Pre-Calculus. Yuck.

 

Yes, she has a knack for looking at the glass half full. But… _math!_ Need she say more?

 

There is nothing anyone on this planet could tell her that would convince her taking a mathematics course would be beneficial to her. She has a strong belief that math was designed to torture innocent youths and destroy hard-earned GPAs, and wants nothing more to do with it now than she did when she was in high school. She’d decided quite early on that she was going to be an English major, and knows for damn sure that she does not need to know the inverse of cosine in order to write creatively or analytically.

 

Class was followed by a seven hour shift at Home Depot. It is important to note that she has nothing against home improvement or outdoorsy activities, or whatever else Home Depot represents - in fact, she loves architectural and interior design, nature, and all those dandy things that help make up the world. All of it supplies inspiration aplenty and can be calming under the correct circumstances. This admiration does not, contrary to customer belief, mean that she is knowledgeable in the care requirements for each and every plant on the patio, nor does she know the distinguishable differences between brands of wrenches. She supposes she should know such things, because she _does_ work there, and it’s probably part of her job to know them. But why memorize that, when she could be learning another Robert Frost poem? She could quit – she’s fully aware of that. But at this point, the wage and benefits are too good for her to leave for a minimum wage job elsewhere. Plus, her coworkers are fun enough to make each shift bearable.

 

After clocking out, she drove home and jumped in the shower to scrub the lingering earthy odor off her body and out of her hair, not bothering to dry or brush it. She mummified herself in her bedsheets and comforter, and was fully prepared to hibernate for a solid twelve hours.

 

And she was almost there. _Almost_ unconscious.

 

Until a deep, muffled explosion sent her second floor townhouse apartment into a fit similar to that which would be caused by an earthquake reaching at least a three on the Richter scale.

 

Her bed rattles and shakes her awake, and coconut scented body lotions dive off her dresser. She hears the clicking of push pins landing on the wooden floor, followed by the folding of paper as her favorite poster (the one with _Pride and Prejudice_ scrawled across it beside the silhouettes of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy) comes fluttering down on top of her.

 

Chloe doesn’t panic. Oddly enough, this is not the first time this has happened. It’s a strange idea to ponder: _this is not the first time she has been woken up in the middle of the night via violent tremor_. Which is actually...kind of _frustrating_.

 

Why couldn't she have _normal_ neighbor who wants to sleep as much as she does? Or at least get a healthy eight hours? Why does her neighbor have to be a brainiac _obsessed_ with physics and lasers and chemicals? Why does her neighbor have to _set off explosions on a somewhat frequent basis_?

 

The first time Chloe heard on of the experiments take place, she jumped out of her skin and nearly hyperventilated, thinking she was going to be crushed under her collapsing townhouse. She sat wide-eyed on her bed with her phone clutched in her hands, 911 dialed on the screen and ready to be called, until a cheer echoed up to her ears. It was the strangest thing. The high pitched voice sounded genuinely _excited_ …and Chloe was not sure she wanted to know why. But, it did make her feel better; like she should not currently be fearing for her life. A relief trickled through her, just enough to calm her breathing. She had forced herself back under the sheets and laid in the dark, listening intently to the occasional clinking or beeping, until sleep overtook the confusion.

 

She had come to adjust to the wildcards her neighbor tossed on the table; sometimes there was the explosion, always displacing a number of her belongings. Other times, there were little bursts of fizzing, zaps, and sparking noises. Every once in a while, she even recognized the clanging of hammers on nails and the eventual humming of an active unknown machine.

 

The worst - the moments when fear glued Chloe to one spot – occurred when a disappointed whine or angry snarl reached her ears after whatever trial had just taken place. Unhappy noises coming from below had to mean that something had _not_ gone according to plan, and that usually led to Chloe having nightmares about waking up with a third arm or being transported to the eighteenth century.

 

Which, obviously, never happened.

 

Tonight, however, Chloe was not scared, nor was she relieved to hear the whoop that followed. Chloe’s day had felt like an entire year, and she needs her rest. Chloe needs tonight to _not_ be one filled with explosions.

 

Chloe is, simply, pissed off. And pissed off Chloe does not know how to deal with the foreign emotion.

 

With an angry, bellicose growl and an embarrassingly long struggle of pushing and pulling and kicking at sheets, she finally wiggles free and launches herself (and the poster) to the floor. She could be upset about that later, but right now, she’s on a mission. She pulls on a pair of running shorts and jams her sockless feet into a pair of black Chucks without bothering to tie them or tuck the laces away, and actually manages not to trip on anything on her rampage out the door.

 

The idea of making herself presentable had entered her mind, solely for intimidation, or possibly flirty persuasion into not conducting experiments past ten, but the thought wasn’t current long enough for her to do anything about it...though she probably should have done _something_. She can feel her damp hair curling around her cheeks and knows it is probably matted in the back from where her head shifted left and right on her pillow. She also hadn’t bothered to wipe the black remanences of her eyeliner off after she’d washed her face, so she’s fully aware of the terrifying case of raccoon eye she has right about now.

 

Flirty persuasion was out, but she could be intimidating if she looked like a sleep deprived head case, right?

 

Sometimes Chloe has to mentally slap her wrist for not calling the authorities that first night, following that first explosion, because now she has a mad scientist for a neighbor, and feels some sort of companionship to said mad scientist for _no_ valid reason. She doesn’t even know her name – she doesn’t even know why she assumes they are female. She does, however, feel like they share some unspoken secret. Kind of like, ‘I won’t tell about your explosions if you don’t tell about me playing my music too loud,’ which makes Chloe feel incredibly bland when she really dwells on it. Her neighbor is _living_. Living dangerously and crazily, but still living nonetheless. And there she is every day, ignoring her math homework as she sings along to America’s Top 100 on Spotify while balancing pencils on the bridge of her nose.

 

Mostly, though, she doesn’t think she could forgive herself if she had to watch her neighbor be carried away in a strait jacket.

 

Tonight, Chloe hit a breaking point and _could not_ and _would not_ deal with it. Her restraint nowhere to be found, within six seconds she was down the stairs and was banging rapidly with both fists on the first floor apartment door, having full intentions of breaking through the wood if no one opened it soon.

 

They hadn’t been neighbors for a very long time, maybe a few months. Chloe remembered waking up one morning to see the **“For Rent: Townhouse, First Floor Apartment”** sign gone, and a moving van parked out front. It was a large van, and seemed a bit excessive. The apartments weren’t that expansive. Chloe could barely fit her small collection of furniture in the household comfortably. A bed and dresser filled her room, with a few book and music posters hung about, and one picture of she and her best friend Aubrey rested in a frame on her dresser. A small table and two chairs stood in the kitchen with the built-in refrigerator and stove. Lastly, a single three seater couch (a hand-me-down from her older sister) accompanied with a wooden coffee table sat in the main room. Her desk was in the only sufficiently roomy space available, adjacent to the window next to the front door. She had paintings she found for a bargain at Kirklands and more picture frames encasing images of her family and some friends up on the walls, which were – fortunately - a nice sky-blue color.

 

The moving van was gone by the time Chloe had gotten home later that same evening. It was unusual of her to not have introduced herself that night, nor any night after. She’d always assumed that when the neighbor finally moved in, she’d be there with a welcoming smile and some cliché fresh bakes cookies. Yet, per the Universe’s order, school, work, and life in general had gotten in her way, making her selfish with her sparse free time. By the time she was ready to introduce herself, the experiments began, and she supposed it was fear of being caught in the crossfire of a laser beam that kept her away.

 

Since her neighbor was always doing...science-y... _stuff_...Chloe had never even _seen_ the girl. Girl? All she knew was that the person’s initials were B.M, and she only knew that because she had accidentally been delivered a very formal looking piece of her mail one time. (She thought about it for a while, giving her neighbor names to match: Beth Michaels. Benjamin Moore. Brittany Martinez. Eventually she ran out of last names and lost interest.) Chloe had silently wedged it in the crack between the door and the jamb and retreated back to her room before she was caught.

 

Finally, she was brought back to the present with the opining of the door.

 

In front of her stood a girl - definitely a girl - about her age, shorter than her by a few inches, with disheveled brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, many strands fraying out messily. She wore black rimmed glasses and a white lab coat over a pair of jeans and a black V-neck. There was a smudge of some black substance on parts of her face and scuffs on her coat. She looked at Chloe with annoyed pursed lips, and suddenly Chloe was hyperaware of her indecent shorts and smudgy eyes. She’d also ran out of her room without a bra on. Fan-tastic.

 

“Hey,” the girl greeted, squinting her eyes with a slight furrowing of her brows, eyeing Chloe’s appearance. “What’s up?”

 

And Chloe literally forgets what words are. These moments are rare for Chloe. She guesses this was what it’s like to be tongue-tied; typically, she’s the one causing others stumble over their words through purposely flirtatious winks and seemingly innocent phrases that, in fact, suggest so much more. After being on the other side and experiencing the awkward helplessness, she’s going to hesitate putting anyone else in this position ever again. She expected many things of her neighbor’s appearance, but definitely not _this_. The girl belongs in magazines, Chloe thinks, not locked up in her apartment with…with whatever it is she has in there!

 

“Uh. Um. I’m Chloe. I live upstairs.”

 

The girl’s expression remains unchanged, and her voice offers no hint of emotion. “Oh. Okay. Cool.”

 

Okay? _Cool?_ No, it was not _okay,_ nor was it _cool_. How _rude_. “I heard an explosion…” Chloe crosses her arms high on her chest. Note to self: never leave the house without the proper undergarments.

 

The girl sighs and her face contorts in frustration, reminding Chloe of how she used to act when her parents wouldn’t let her go out on Friday nights. It seems childish, and is quite off-putting. Then again, she is already annoyed, and anything the girl is to do or say right now, if not thought through carefully, is going to further push Chloe’s buttons. Even if she is ridiculously intrigued by the girl. The brunette pulls the glasses off of her face and busied herself cleaning them with the bottom of her shirt. “Yeah, I know. I screwed something up with my measurements. Too much nitroglycerin or something.”

 

She’s completely missing the point. And why does she expect Chloe to know what nitroglycerin is? “I...I’m sorry?” Her curiosity is brimming and her eyes can’t stop roaming, but her patience is plummeting. She shakes her head of the fog building, getting back to business. “Do you know what time it is?”

 

“Erm...no.” The brunette admits, having the decency to shrink into herself a little as she continues. “But I’m guessing by...well, everything, that it’s not an appropriate time for me to be setting off explosions.”

 

Chloe coughs out an abrasive laugh and chomps down on her inner cheek. “No. It is not an appropriate time to be setting off explosions. I’m _so_ glad you were able to come to that conclusion all by yourself.” It’s out before Chloe can soften her words and tone.

 

The brunette frowns and visibly tenses up, her jaw tightening. Chloe now notices the dark circles beneath the girl’s eyes, and almost regrets being so harsh. At least they had one thing in common. Though, lack of sleep wasn’t necessarily a pleasant thing to share with another.

 

“I’m sorry,” Chloe starts, shutting her eyes. “That was kind of harsh. I’ve just had a really long day, and-“

 

“Yeah,” the girl interrupts quickly, an almost playful lilt to her voice, “You know what? You’re right. Totally right. I’m _so_ sorry.” Her hands raise in surrender, then fall to hit her thighs with a smack. “This wasn’t cool of me. Next time I’m a bother, feel free to come bang on my door in your pajamas. I shouldn’t be getting in the way of anyone’s _much needed_ beauty sleep.”

 

With that, she places the temple tip of her glasses between her teeth with a sarcastic smirk, oozing pride from the subtle insult she’d just delivered, and steps back to kick the door shut in Chloe’s gaping face.

 

She was going to show her just what a few hours of beauty sleep could do.


	2. Daisies

 

 

One sunny day during the summer preceding her senior year of high school, Chloe Beale had, in fact, developed a particular sense of fashion. One which she liked to believe categorized her as a miniature Amy Adams.

 

No more of the same raggedy jeans, paired with the same oversized T-shirts. No more of the simple, effortless Chloe that everyone had come to know and expect every day. Not that anything was wrong with ‘old’ Chloe; she loved her, and still loves her to this day. Raggedy jeans and oversized T-shirts do, actually, have their own very important place in Chloe’s wardrobe.

 

She just didn’t want to be the same predictable girl any longer.

                                                                                                                              

She spent the remainder of her summer working at Burger King – which was as unpleasant as it sounds, but she had to make money somehow – and saved all her paychecks up for a massive shopping trip. With that, she traded in her flip-flops for fringed ankle boots, her jackets for lace cardigans and fitted blazers, and stocked up on pleated skirts, wrap dresses, and rompers in all the colors that made her eyes radiate like the sun. She taught herself how to apply and blend her eyeshadow, studied which colors would best complimented her eye and skin color, and learned several different ways to style her hair. She also schooled herself on the utmost importance of hydration, healthy eating, exercise, and getting a sufficient amount of sleep in order to encourage natural beauty.

 

Because of all this preparation, the best moment of Chloe’s high school career had been arriving the first day of her senior year to see all her unsuspecting peers stare at her as she passed in the halls, chin held high and lips coated in red. Her best friend, Aubrey, who had spent the summer at a medical technology workshop at Yale and thus not been able to witness the transformation, had come up to her, cradled her face for examination with an awed, “I don’t know what happened, but I am so proud of you.”

 

That’s when she knew she made it. Shook off the cloak of awkwardness and invisibility to reveal a shiny interior, a love for other human beings, and a face that drew stares like Johnny Depp drew admirers.

 

Knowing how far she’d come, a whole four years of finding peace and confidence with her new found self, the last thing she was going to do was stand by and allow insults to be thrown carelessly at her. She knew she was attractive – there was nothing wrong with a fine amount of confidence. (After all, some confidence is required to be able to call oneself a miniature Amy Adams.)

 

And she would never say it aloud, but she knew she very well might have been taking the brunette girl’s comment from the night before a little too seriously. Still - she needed to not focus on that little detail right now. It might detract her focus from making herself as hot as possible.

 

Defensive and determined, Chloe awoke around seven-thirty the following morning and departed for a run; get some adrenaline pumping and kick start her energy reserve (until about two, when she’d be in desperate need of a nap). Three miles and a thorough shower later, Chloe plugged her phone into her speakers to blast some Echosmith (quite loudly) before perching herself on the ledge of her bathroom sink to begin her makeup routine.

 

She picked out a three-quarter sleeved navy blue romper with intricate turquoise and silver designs to wear, which always succeeded in making her eyes dazzle, and decided to compliment it with subtle eye makeup. She took her trusty eyeshadow brushes in hand and blended a few shades of pinks and light tans into a crème hued base, expertly applied mascara, and dabbed on some dark pink lip gloss that tasted like peppermint. Finally, she scrunched her red locks to enhance the curls and tamed the fly-away hairs with touches of hairspray.

 

She dubbed it her ‘Girl Next Door’ look, because who doesn’t love a little irony? After all, the ‘Insane Unkempt Neighbor’ strategy hadn’t succeeded in intimidating nor impressing the brunette, so aesthetical appeal was her next resort. Worked before, should work again.

 

Grinning at herself in the mirror and squinting her eyes in evil anticipation, she knew in the next few minutes she was going to have the pleasure of seeing her neighbor wide eyed and slack jawed. And it was going to be the highlight of Chloe’s week.

 

…

 

Dainty knuckles tapped on the first floor door with much less ferocity than had been executed the night before. This knock produced a hollow, polite sound, three raps in a row, cuing Chloe to straighten her back and plaster a sweet smile on her face. She knew it produced a warm, sugary outward impression, but she could taste a bitterness, one she’d felt festering deep down since she hatched her plan the night before, seeping onto her taste buds from the forgery of the expression.

 

Part of her felt incredibly gratified with herself, standing there with a bouquet of white daisies plucked from the vase on her kitchen table held behind her back and ready to be relinquished as a peace offering. But the distaste of what she was doing – her true intent – made her muscles tense uncomfortably. That tiny portion of her that felt somewhat pathetic for going through the trouble just to make her neighbor…make her what, exactly? Feel inferior, like one would to another in a cliché high school movie? No, that wasn’t something Chloe made a point of doing to others (even to rude, oddly attractive women who woke her every other night with miniature concentrated earthquakes). Make her feel bad for being so brass the night before? That seemed more probable, but still wasn’t hitting the bullseye.

 

The door pulled open with a whoosh of air, and the smaller brunette stepped out in front of it only to it shut behind her in haste, not allowing Chloe the chance to get a glimpse of the inside. She stood still, peering at Chloe, poker faced with the exception of a single raised brow. Most definitely not the show of utter surprise that Chloe dearly wished to see. Chloe knew her loud music had done its job when she saw that the girl was actually fully awake _and_ decent… _okay_ , more than decent (the blue top she was wearing really did wonders).

 

“Hey,” the girl says, much like the night before, then wiggles her finger up and down, gesturing to the spans of Chloe’s body. Chloe, for a glorious moment that ends much too quickly, catches the dark eyes rake up her body, from the curly red hair straight down to the strappy wedges she’s wearing. To be honest, it could have been a gaze of contempt or of infatuation. Chloe is not sure how to read her just yet. “You look…different.”

 

Chloe nods her head, agreeing completely. “That I do!” Unblinking, the girl’s lips quirk up on the sides somewhat awkwardly, not all that happily, and entirely expectantly, waiting for the redhead to explain why she was knocking on her door at nine in the morning.

 

“Look,” Chloe continues, snapping out of her daze, “I think we got off on the wrong foot last night. I’m Chloe Beale.” She flashes her pearly whites and extends her right hand, still holding the flowers behind her back. Her eyes stay glued to the scientist for any sign of stagger or shock, but other than that one sliver of an admiring look-over, she is granted nothing.

 

The girl simply replies with her tight lipped smile, not welcoming in the slightest, and nods her head curtly. “Awesome.” She glances at the hand while she reaches behind her to wiggle the doorknob, making sure it’s locked, and moves to pass by Chloe.

 

She couldn’t even shake her hand? Hell, Chloe would have been okay with a hi-five at that point, as long as it meant she wasn’t rooming above an antisocial genius who could probably make her grow a third arm if Chloe annoyed her enough. She needed to be on decent terms with the girl. And she kind of wanted to be, too.

 

“Wait a sec!” Chloe sidesteps to block her path, her earlier hope and desires crushed by the girl’s disinterest. She feels her brows knit together against her will; she’d desperately wanted to maintain a pristine, cheerful image – like _always_ – but this _girl_ was incorrigible! “I’d like to know who I’m living next to, you know?”

 

The scientist actually has the audacity to meet Chloe’s gaze – and _laugh_ mockingly, right in her face. “Interesting. You didn’t seem to care much four months ago when I moved in, so.”

 

Which, in her eyes, must seem entirely true, because Chloe’s plans to introduce herself had never been executed. She’d wanted to meet her new neighbor, but she also had homework to do and midterms to study for and sleep to be had…and _maybe_ a new season of _Parks and Recreations_ and _Grey’s Anatomy_ had just been released on Netflix and _maybe_ she didn’t leave Aubrey’s couch for five days while they binge watched them. Whatever.

 

Chloe’s head jerks back, not entirely expecting the girl to be so blunt. Her mouth opens to respond, but she doesn’t know what to say that won’t simply be her sputtering out excuses like an imbecile. The brunette breaks hums matter-of-factly at having shut up Chloe once again, and weaves around her to continue down the cobblestone path to her car.

 

Chloe spins around to face the retreating form, “Hey!”

 

Thankfully, the girl stops - but makes a huge show of dropping her shoulders and letting her head fall back before slowly turning her body towards Chloe.

 

“I brought you daisies!” She calls, lifting the flowers in front of her as a signal for the girl to come back and receive them.

 

With a sigh and pushing back of her curly hair, the scientist continues her trek, only walking backwards, and calls back, “I’m more of an orchid girl.”

 

She slides into the driver’s seat of her car and leaves Chloe standing at her doorstep with an incredulous drop of her jaw. Before she drives off, the girl catches Chloe’s eye with a pointed stare and twists the volume knob of her car up as far as it goes, making the car tremble with “Mr. Brightside” bleeding through its walls.

 

At least Chloe knows the girl had heard her wake-up music.

 

The scientist zooms off, and Chloe already has a message typed up and sent by the time she’s out of view.

 

**Lunch today please?**

Her phone’s petite ding pours some sand over the fire inside her that’s causing the smoke to billow from her ears.

**Aubrey: Yes ma’am. Time and place?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm kind of just writing this one for fun, and am not taking it as serious as I am my other story. Please share your thoughts, if you love it/hate it/want something to happen, and always feel free to contact me on tumblr @ Cloverbomb


	3. Taco Bell

“Did you slap her?”

 

“No, Jesse, I didn’t _slap_ her.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Chloe’s eyes shut in frustration and she exhales loudly through her nostrils. If Aubrey hadn’t already apologized profusely for bringing her boyfriend on their lunch date, she’d have been shooting her daggers. Still peeved from her earlier encounter with the scientist, she didn’t need to be thrown in to a game of 20 Questions. She’d rather vent all of her steam out with a healthy rambling. Although, she doesn’t necessarily want to spill absolutely everything in front of Jesse. Thankfully, Aubrey intercepts before Chloe can explode into a strain of expletives.

 

“Jess, sweetie, you can’t just go around slapping your neighbors. It doesn’t make for a good housing situation. Right, Chlo?” The blonde averts her attention to Chloe with a chastising look, as though Jesse had planted a seed in her mind and she was trying to dig it back out.

 

Chloe leans her elbows onto the diner table and cradles her head in her hands, fingers splayed across her cheeks. “I’m not going to slap my neighbor.” She mumbles her promise.

 

“But,” Aubrey continues, reaching out to tuck strands of Chloe’s red strands behind her ear comfortingly, “That doesn’t mean I don’t think she’s a total douche-b.” As a harsh and totally unnecessary side note, she adds, “Even though you are too for missing karaoke night last week, but whatever.” Chloe lets that pass, because she really doesn’t have a good reason for missing. As Aubrey would say, pick your battles. “Jessica got that hot host’s number, and Amy fell off the stage again.”

 

Jesse works his way back into the conversation, “Okay, but…if you slapped her-”

 

“Jesse, I swear to God.” The look Aubrey shoots him nearly turned him to stone.

 

“I’m joking! Geez!” His hands raise in defense, an overly dramatic look of offense turning the corners of his mouth downward. Aubrey rubs his shoulder as a small gesture of apology and adoration before turning back to Chloe.

 

“You could always call the landlord.”

 

Chloe buries her face more completely with her fingers and groans, “I don’t want a level-headed retaliation, Aubrey! I want to TP her house or something, except her house is technically my house, so that _totally_ wouldn’t work.” She makes a faux sobbing noise into her palm. Chloe had told Aubrey (and Jesse) strictly about the unlucky encounters between her and the mysterious brunette, deliberately leaving out the entire aspect of attraction she felt towards the girl. That would be another story for another day, hopefully one sans Jesse.

 

“Hey!” The blond snaps, crossing her arms over the table and lean towards her redheaded friend. “You were at the apartment first, and you have done _nothing_ wrong. You’re not the one waking her up at two in the morning. Plus, I know you didn’t come to me for some evil plot. If you wanted that, you’d have called Amy.” She was right. Chloe wasn’t trying to eliminate any chance she had of being kind-of-friends with the scientist, if nothing else. She really wanted to piece together a way to have a humane conversation with her, and maybe see just what it was she was always doing in her laboratory of an apartment.

 

“Well, I recommend you not interrupt her during one of her…um, experiments.” Aubrey begins, tearing a Splenda packet open to pour into her glass of iced tea. They all avert their attention for a moment while the waitress delivers their plates of food, thanking her with smiles all around. Jesse digs into his burger, his focus intently set on his meal from this point on. Aubrey drizzles Italian dressing from a small ceramic cup over her garden salad, and Chloe carefully lifts her BLT to her mouth, eager to satiate the grumbling in her belly. “We all know how well that went the first time, right?”

 

Aubrey brings the now empty cup to the table with a _bang_ and an excited gasp, staring at Chloe with a lightbulb from within her knowledgeable cranium setting light to her green eyes. “Duh! I got it!” She starts, mixing around the leafy greens of her salad with her fork. Chloe returns her gaze with one of teal confusion and a mouthful of wheat bread, bacon, lettuce, and tomato.

 

“Here’s what you’re going to do…”

 

…

 

Aubrey’s plan didn’t require much of anything, really. Chloe could just considered it practice for when The Incredibles 2 came out, because she swore the moment she heard about it that she would stake out at the theater and be the very first one to see it. It was her _childhood_.

 

She’d driven home, determined to take a stand, and huffed her way up to Beca’s doorstep dramatically, only to sit decidedly in front of her door and cross her arms like a toddler in timeout.

 

It was all very anticlimactic.

 

Especially when the first five minutes pass without even a bird flying by to catch her attention, and she realizes she has no clue when the girl would be coming back, _if_ she were even coming back that night – hey, she didn’t know what the girl did with her free time – and she was really beginning to regret drinking those three glasses of water. She wasn’t going to budge though; the scientist might arrive in the five minutes it would take to run up to her apartment, do her business, and come back. That would be tragic.

 

Instead, she repositions herself against the terribly uncomfortable door, and checks her phone: 1:53 P.M. She fights back a yawn and begins to ponder which novel she should choose to do for her semester analysis essay. She could thoroughly discuss the idea of manipulation and control present in George Orwell’s _1984_. Or she could connect the monarchial timeline in Shakespeare’s _Macbeth_ to real life events in England concerning King Henry VIII and those following. But she’s sure both of those are well worn out topics by now.

 

Before she knows it, thoughts of essays and monarchs, and even sabotaging moody geniuses escape her mind and are replaced by a sheet of black that takes over as her eyes close, and she’s out.

 

…

 

“Hey.”

 

“ _Hey_.”

 

“ _Dude_ , wake _up_.”

 

Chloe jerks awake to the jostling of a foot connecting with her calf. She tilts her head up to see, through sleep clouded eyes, a short brunette with a key jingling impatiently in her hand. The redhead quickly swipes the back of her hand against her chin, praying to not find a trail of drool. Thankfully, her face is pleasantly dry.

 

“Hi,” She croaks out, her tone deeper than usual, as though her vocal cords haven’t woken up yet.

 

“Okay, um, I don’t know if you realized this yet, but this isn’t your bed.” She slaps the door with her palm, the loud noise produced making Chloe jump. “This is my front door. Which I would like to go through. I could have just opened the door, but I like to think I’m not totally evil. So, if you would…” She looks at Chloe expectantly, her eyebrows raised, gesturing for her to move with both arms.

 

“But if I move, you’re going to go inside and not talk to me,” The redhead states, still in a haze from being woken up prematurely.

 

“Yeah, that’s the idea.” The brunette responds plainly and pushes her hair back. The porch light brings attention to jewelry gleaming on her ear. A bar spiked through her cartilage, a hoop halfway down, and a swirling, circular piece of metal stationed through her lobe.

 

A frown creases Chloe’s brows. “Why don’t you want to talk to me?”

 

The girl’s mouth opens, but then she turns her head to the side and closes it in second thought. Probably to spare her feelings, Chloe guesses. A heavy sigh escapes her lips while she stares down the empty street. Brusquely, she ignores the question and turns back to stick her key in the lock. “I’m going to open it now.”

 

Chloe clambers away from the door and launches to her feet while the brunette twists her key in the lock and swing the door open. She guesses she should be thankful she’d gotten a warning, or she’d have been squashed beneath the girl’s angry boot-clad steps.

 

“You don’t even _have_ a reason!” Chloe realizes, wrapping her arms around her chilly torso. If she woke up with a cold the next day, she was not going to be a happy camper. Not that she was a happy camper at this point anyway; in fact, she was kind of pissed. _Again_. More pissed than she was in the morning, actually. Chloe hadn’t been rude (unless you count barging to the girl’s door in the middle of the night, but she _asked_ for it!) and was trying to be as friendly as she could be, considering the circumstances. Yet, none of her attempts were working. This never happened; people just weren’t _mean_ to Chloe Beale. She didn’t know how to handle it rationally, and was teetering on the edge of an outburst that would definitely make the brunette blacklist her. Her arms cross and her hips jut to one side in aggravation. “You’re being a bitch to me for _no_ reason.”

 

“Ya’ got me.” The scientist replies, rolling her eyes and moving to shut the door in Chloe’s face once again. “Thanks for keeping my doorstep warm.” Chloe presses her hand against the door, desperate to find a way to open up windows for more conversation. She wracked her brain for something to say, anything that would peak the brunette’s interest in the slightest.

 

“Do you like Taco Bell?” She blurts out.

 

After a few seconds, her head appears in the gap between the door and the jamb. An incredulous grimace designs her face, “Who _doesn’t_ like Taco Bell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope you liked the chapter! I appreciate the reviews so much, thank you for sharing your thoughts and comments! :) So, I have been asked to update more often. I'm going to try that, but the chapters will be about this length. Next, I also was asked about an old work of mine called Patchwork (yes, that was mine). I did delete it, I didn't plan it out well enough and didn't feel like it was all that interesting, so I lost motivation to write it. I might restart it...at some point...maybe. What do you think? Anyway! Once again, thanks for all the support, always feel free to talk to me on tumblr (@cloverbomb) and I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving!


	4. Chain-Links

If she were being completely honest, Chloe was ninety-nine point nine percent sure that offering to buy her neighbor Taco Bell would do nothing but earn her a nasty look and completely disconnect her from the other girl – but it was worth a shot. Instead she received a cautious, squinty-eyed glare with a monotone, “You’re driving.” A door was still slammed shut in her face, but at least this time the girl was slamming it behind her as she huffed down the cobblestoned pathway to Chloe’s Jetta.

 

She pressed the unlock button as she follows suit and hops into her car.

 

“You _would_ own a Jetta.” The scientist mumbles, and Chloe thinks it’s meant to be some sly insult, but it really only makes her snort in laughter. She wasn’t about to cave in and give the brunette the show of utter offense she so obviously trying to wring out of Chloe through her judgmental disposition.

 

“Are you seriously making fun of my car right now?”

 

Needless to say, it was a tense eight minutes to the nearest Taco Bell.

 

…

 

“So, what do you do?” -Is Chloe’s poor attempt at conversation while she unwraps a crunchy taco and peers at the brunette, who is pouring her second packet of mild sauce evenly over the insides of her crunch-wrap supreme with an overwhelming amount of concentration.

 

Her stormy eyes flicker up, her eyelashes brushing against her scowling brow. “What do you mean?”

 

“Like…what do you… _do_?” She repeats. _Nice one, Chlo_.

 

Beca faces her with a slightly less intense expression, replaced with a quirked lip and a certain glint in her eyes. “Well, you see, to sum it up simply: as a human, I take in oxygen and food and tons of other shit, which are then metabolized by my cells and thus provide me with the ability to live.” She finishes her remark with a deliberate bite of her food and chews it with a plain, amused expression.

 

The girl wants to play games. Unlucky for her, Chloe is fully prepared to pull on her jersey and join the game.

 

“No way!” Chloe counters with raised eyebrows, “Is _that_ what makes my house shake in the middle of the night?”

 

A heavy silence falls over the two like a magician’s blanket, the brunette hunching over her food wrapper with a mouthful of tortilla and a look of contemplation in her eyes. The noise is broken with Chloe munching on the crunchy shell. She sits up tall and feels victorious, like she’s just gotten an A on a final exam, up until the storms in the scientist’s eyes pick up speed to manage the spite flowing through them. She chews the rest of her food quickly and throws the rest she’s holding onto the wrapping. She avoids Chloe’s gaze the entire time, and wipes harshly at her mouth before looking back up.

 

“If all this is about asking me to move out, or to quit my trials, then you can stop there. I’m not going to be the one to leave this time. You’re just going to have to deal with it. Or _you_ can move.”

 

Whoa. Not what Chloe was going for at all.

 

She sputters to fix her mistaken joke, “Oh my goodness, no! That’s not what I’m…” Chloe has to pause for a moment to collect her thoughts. She swears they were neatly aligned just seconds ago; now, they’re jumbled like Scrabble tiles. She can’t imagine ever asking someone to move out of their home for her own convenience. Moreover, she can’t even believe that the girl had actually been put in that position before. Then again, people often scream at their neighbors for barking dogs and garage bands – why not incredibly loud and disruptive science experiments as well? “That’s actually happened to you? You’ve been asked to _move_?”

 

The girl scoffs, “’Asked’ is a very gentle term in comparison to how people have actually approached me.” Her voice is firm, lacking any empathy whatsoever for her past neighbors. She doesn’t offer anything else to her mysterious past (and present), though, leaving Chloe to scramble to fill the silence.

 

“Well…I’m not…I’m not asking you to leave. I wouldn’t do that.” Her eyes flicker from the girl’s steely ones to the strands of hair blowing against her cheek from the current of the air conditioner. “Ever.” She adds as a side note, because it feels necessary. It’s apparent that it’s as appreciated from the girl’s perspective as it is necessary from Chloe’s. Her jaw loses most – but not all – of its previous tension, and the steel of her eyes becomes more of a molten metal, gooey and malleable.

 

But of course, she looks away before Chloe can influence the shifting temperament.

 

“I do research. I run tests.” The brunette starts, answering Chloe’s earlier question genuinely, folding her wrapper meticulously over her uneaten food. “I build and I destroy things. With reason, of course.” Her gaze flicks up to meet Chloe’s. “Things like that.”

 

She’d already figured it was something along those lines. (How many other options were there for spontaneous midnight explosions that caused no apparent detrimental damage?) Really, though, her confession only created more questions.  


“What kind of research?” Chloe asks before taking a final bite.

 

The girl captures her straw between light pink lips – and Chloe definitely shouldn’t stare at them as long as she does – and sucks in the remaining amount of soda from her purple cup. “I feel like this is the part where I’m supposed to say that if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.” Her easy retort reaches Chloe like a refreshing breeze. It’s sarcastic, and it’s definitely sassy – as expected – but it’s also a casual, non-condescending and clever way for her to keep some of her cards hidden. Chloe is fully aware of this; she understands well enough, and she doesn’t mind being kept in the dark…for now.

 

She is determined to chip away at the girl’s armor, chain-link by chain-link.

 

However, she really would like to stop referring to her as ‘the girl.’

 

Before she’s able to open her mouth, the brunette is shattering their not-so-pleasant-but-not-all-that-horrible moment with a screech of her chair as she stands and pushes it back. “Ready?”

 

Abrupt as always; then again, Chloe isn’t really one to talk. Abrupt, if anything, is her forte (other than English, of course). Still, that fact doesn’t stop her from stuttering out, “Erm…uh, yeah. Let’s skedaddle.”

 

 _My God, I just said ‘skedaddle.’_ She thinks with a fierce mental palm to the face.

 

All is not lost, though, because the brunette actually holds the back of her fist to her mouth to stifle a laugh, which Chloe considers another chain-link pried off.

 

“Yeah, okay, Granny.” She mocks, “Let’s skedaddle.”

 

…

 

The car ride home is much less awkward than the ride to. The brunette still stares out the window, but Chloe dares to take her eyes off the road a few times to observe the girl, catching her lips mouthing out words to certain songs: one Twenty-One Pilots song, and then some loud electronic song with female vocals that Chloe doesn’t recognize.

 

She’s caught snooping as she turns onto their street. The girl doesn’t even look at her, just looks down the street and announces, “I swear, if I die in this car, I _will_ come back and haunt you.”

 

To which Chloe playfully replies, “Does the field of science accept the possibility of life after death?”

 

The girl shoots her a pointed look. “Don’t get me started.”

 

Chloe, fighting the giggles all the while, pulls the car into her delegated spot on the curb in front of their shared townhouse and cuts the engine. They both climb out of the vehicle, sighing to ease the discomfort caused by their full bellies. They start the trek up their small driveway, and Chloe can’t help but think back to her first dates. Specifically, the end of said dates, and the dreaded awkward walk to the door. She understood that it was traditional and respectful, or _whatever_ , but maybe her date, Gage Emshoff, was a total tool, and maybe she didn’t want to hug Gage Emshoff goodbye, or have to evade his expectant kissy lips like her dad evades door-to-door salesmen; i.e, swiftly, urgently, and at all costs.

 

“Thanks. I’ll see you later, I guess.” Speaks the scientist in her typical even voice, splitting from Chloe to head towards her first-floor door. Chloe is shocked, and a little crushed at the poor excuse for a goodbye. She watches the departing girl take a few more steps, her hair swaying with her movement, before deciding that she needs one more thing before the night ends.

 

“Wait!” She starts, in disbelief that they’d gone this long without sorting through the most basic of basics. “What’s your name?”

 

She looks over her shoulder as she continues walking, pulling her key from her back pocket. Her voice comes out sounding hesitant, and almost a bit dejected. Why? Chloe has no clue. That is the issue with speaking in one tone all the time, Chloe thinks offhandedly: it’s easy to notice the slightest deviation in tone and timbre. “It’s Beca.” She rotates the key in the lock and turns to lean against the door. She actually meets Chloe’s gaze, and the redhead’s heart skips. Determined, she fights the urge to look away like a bashful teen receiving attention from a crush. It’s silly, so Chloe resorts to what she knows best: confidence.

 

Chloe feels her cheeks stretch against the surface area her smile is intent on covering. Another chain-link down. “Mine is Chloe.” She says, even though she’s said it before.

 

Beca nods a few times and – to Chloe’s utmost surprise (she actually can’t believe she doesn’t keel over on the spot) – she smiles. It’s tiny, and there for only a few short, sweet seconds, but Chloe catches it. She stands there a moment before realizing she should probably leave the girl be and run upstairs to call Aubrey. If she doesn’t, she might implode with the giddy feelings filling her to the brim. Which, when she ponders it (she doesn’t, it’s just a fleeting thought that is swept away with another wave of ‘Oh My Goodness Beca Is Smiling,’) it’s weird that Taco Bell and a smile are making her feel so excited. Especially since it wasn’t a date; she knows. It was _not_ a _date_.

 

She’s yanked out of her daydream quickly. “Goodnight Chloe.” Beca drawls with a slight chuckle, which is _much_ better than her earlier farewell.

 

Chloe’s hands squeeze and tug at the strap of her purse – a nervous tick that Aubrey tells her is as obvious as it is unfair to her poor purse. “Yeah!” She replies excitedly, the volume jolting her out of her haze a little further. “Night, Beca! See ya’ around.” She rocks on her heels one, twice, and spins around before she scares Beca away.

 

Still, she has a feeling they’re both going to be up most of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comment your thoughts! Someone requested chapters from our sassy scientist's POV. How do you all feel about that? I'm planning on updating Swing Set before the next chapter for this, so I apologize if the next update isn't as soon as it should be. Also, I'm crazy and am applying to a pretty selective college, and I have to bulk up my art portfolio, so I'm super sorry if that update doesn't come as soon as I'd like either. Christmas break is soon, and I'll crank out lots of updates then! :) Have a great week everyone. Talk to me on tumblr! @Cloverbomb


	5. Orchid Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I am trash for leaving you all without an update for so long. I'm sorry this is so atrociously late, I have no good excuse. But, if you're still reading this, thank you, and I hope you enjoy! :)

“I’m going to do it.”

 

Aubrey cocks her head and balks at her friend, “Chlo, _no_! I really don’t think you should be pressing this girl for so much attention.”

 

Chloe dog-ears the corner of her English Literature book before slamming it shut with a _thump_. “No, no, no, just listen! She told me before that she likes orchids, right? Right, okay – _so_ , I’ll go buy some orchids – ooh, should I get purple ones? Or the white ones? I feel like she’d probably like the white ones because they’re simple…anyway!” Fingers shoot up to brush red tendrils out of her face and back into a ponytail. “So I’ll do that, and then I’ll go knock on her door and be like, ‘Would you rather blow things up… _orchid_ around with me at the carnival?’”

 

A wide smile breaks open wildly across her face at the successful delivery of her pun. Yet, Aubrey’s green eyes gleam at her with a sort of unadultered perplexity. “Get it?! Ya’ get it?! _Or kid…orchid_!”

 

“Oh _yeah_ , I _get_ it,” She nods slowly, as though she’s attempting to please a child – but with the slow crinkling besides her eyes, Chloe knows she’s not aiming to mock her. “I get it alright. Came across crystal clear.” She emphasizes her point with a pressing together of her pointer finger and thumb. Then she cranes her neck forward with a bright eyed suggestion: “You know what? I don’t think one orchid plant is enough. Get eight.”

 

Chloe laughs heartily. She truly enjoys her time with Aubrey when the girl allows herself to relax and act freely. The blonde is known to most for speaking purposefully, only after calculating her thoughts meticulously – but most don’t know Aubrey like Chloe does. Most haven’t been with Aubrey through years of particularly stressful study sessions and the ice cream and Netflix binges that follow; really, though, Chloe believes, they’re just like any other set of best friends. Endured every gross ex and parental skirmish, embarrassing experience, and laugh that left their abdominals burning. Chloe does also like to believe that she and Aubrey are friends for a reason: Chloe helps bring Aubrey down from her stress induced fits, and in exchange, Aubrey keeps Chloe on a singular path. Without Aubrey’s help, Chloe might never have even _wanted_ to apply to college. She still remembers the fated day that Aubrey lent her _Pride and Prejudice_ like it was just yesterday. She likes to believe that without each other, neither would be as well off, nor as strong as they are today. “It is a _good_ pun, and I am _going_ to use it!”

 

“You can do whatever you want, but don’t come crying to me when she laughs in your face!”

 

“Oh my gosh, _Aubrey_ ,” Chloe gapes, “That is _literally_ the plan.”

 

“To get laughed at?” One golden eyebrow ascends towards her hairline. Her French-tipped nails drum evenly, pinky to pointer finger, along the spine of the unopened medical terminology textbook in her lap. It wasn’t a quirk brought upon by impatience, rather relaxation. The urge to do something productive usually measures to a very small amount when she and Chloe come together for study sessions – which is probably incredibly horrible for not only their grades, but also their sanity, because when they part they will be approximately four to six hours behind on studying – and thus Aubrey brings it upon herself to busy her body in slight ways. Finger tapping. Leg bouncing. Hair braiding. Small mindless actions like that.

 

“Of _course_!” Chloe hops off her bed and flops ungracefully onto the carpet, opposite Aubrey. “You haven’t met her, you don’t get it. She _doesn’t_ laugh. She barely _smiles_.” Chloe widens her eyes animatedly and leans in close to hiss, “She’s like a _robot_.”

 

Aubrey snorts loudly and her palm gently pushes against Chloe’s face to eject her from her bubble.

 

Chloe continues, “Okay, but doesn’t that make so much sense? She’s so smart. Maybe she’s from the future, like _The Terminator_.” She blinks and gazes to Aubrey expectantly. As if she’s supposed to nod and agree completely, then suggest they back the brunette into a corner and pull out some heavy-duty magnets and the metal bat Chloe keeps next to her bed.

 

Instead, her head tilts suddenly and her brow furrows curiously. “What’s her name again?”

 

“Beca,” Chloe hums contently at the word.

 

Aubrey sits up straight and places a thoughtful finger laterally across her lips, tapping once, twice, and then opening her mouth before closing it again.

 

Having successful peaked Chloe’s interest, she asks, “What? What’s wrong?”

 

“It just…” Aubrey squints at Chloe, not decided on if she should open her mouth or not, but she knows that it’s too late at this point. Chloe knows something peculiar is churning in her mind, and she wants to know what it is. “Do you know her last name?”

 

“Nope!”

 

Aubrey takes a deep breath a releases it noisily. “Hmm. It just sounds…oddly _familiar_ , you know? Rings a bell somewhere deep down. Really, really far deep down.” She nods with her own conclusion.

 

“It’s not like it’s a super rare name, though.”

 

“Oh, I know, I know,” the blonde responds with a wave of her hand. “It’s not that. I don’t know how to explain it.” She lowers her chin to rest on her fist, propped via her elbow atop her knee, and offers a smile. Not a weak one, as one would expect: Aubrey would never allow anything she does to be characterized as “weak.” It’s reassuring and indicative that there will be no further questioning. She knows what she means, and if Chloe doesn’t understand what she’s trying so say, then there’s no use dwelling on it at the moment.

 

Chloe huffs in comprehension and unhappy acceptance, and lets her torso fall to the floor. She truly does not believe that Aubrey and Beca have met – yet, after gnawing on the idea in her mind, maybe they _have_. She knows they are both incredibly smart. Given, Beca is seemingly much less social than Aubrey, and thus Chloe would not be too farfetched to assume that they wouldn’t have met, because that would involve Beca leaving her homely perimeters with her precious thoughts to share them with others – which doesn’t seem very likely. Each time Chloe comes to a conclusion, she has to remind herself that she really does not know anything about her neighbor – _literally nothing_. Other than that she is, for one: really, really smart, and two: has really bad luck with neighbors.

 

 _Until now!_ She thinks with a warm smile. Beca has had some real shitty neighbors in the past, and Chloe wants to flip that trend right around. If only the girl would _let_ her. Chloe rolls her head over to face Aubrey.

 

“Where’s a good place to buy orchids?”

 

…

 

As it turns out, there _aren’t_ any good places to buy orchids in Chloe’s immediate area. Of course. So, Chloe is stuck with a white one that’s browning at the edges, and a purple one – or rather, it’s supposed to be purple, but it’s not really blooming yet. She picked said two because she figured leaves were at least good sign.

 

She just really hopes Beca like leaves at this point.

 

Her fist meets Beca’s door, much like it always does, firmly, yet lightly at the same time. She stands there for a long couple seconds before the large plank it pulled open and Beca steps out in black shorts and a blue V-neck shirt with a pair a black glasses on, the rims a noticeable thickness, but not overtly so.

 

Chloe can’t bring herself to say anything, because _gosh_ , her pun is so _bad_ , how could she come up with something like that and hope to use it on Beca?

 

A brunette eyebrow nonchalantly rises in conjecture, and she rests her weight on one cocked hip. “What’s this?” Her tone isn’t totally unwelcoming, and she doesn’t scowl. Chloe decides she should probably speak before Beca’s opinion of her returns to one less than acceptable.

 

“Hi,” She starts. It a surefire way to begin, right? A greeting. _Great job, Chlo. Keep it up_. Her shoulders raise and fall weightily.

 

“Are you hiding daisies behind your back again?” The corner of her mouth twitches upward, just while she speaks, her face angling to the side jokingly.

 

Chloe feels her face burning hot enough to bake cookies on. Okay – maybe not _that_ hot – but enough to make her feel like she’s falling ill with the flu this exact moment. “Would you rather…” She mutters, her chin angled down, mortified eyes flicking to meet Beca’s amused gaze. “…blow things up…” She pulls the morose excuse for flowers to her front, “…orrrchid around with me at the carnival?” Her voice rises with each word until it becomes a squeak, and she physically winces at her delivery. She has to shut her eyes and press her lips tightly together to keep them from spilling anything else that will mar her self-esteem forever. Why hadn’t she listened to Aubrey? Why does she _never listen to Aubrey_?!

 

She hears nothing coming from Beca - not even a door closing in her face as previously predicted. She dares to open her eyes, and deflates all of her worries once she does, like helium from a punctured balloon. Beca’s hand covers her mouth, the elbow resting on the arm across her abdomen, and her eyes are… _watering_? Chloe notices her shoulders bobbing up and down, and it seems an awful lot like crying, but no tears are falling from her eyes. Her hand breaks away from her mouth with an abrupt snort, followed by a train of laughter, coming in a fierce wave and crashing forcefully through the cover Beca so desperately wanted to keep. “That was _great_ ,” Beca manages between her giggles. “How did you even come up with that? That was pure genius!”

 

Chloe doesn’t feel like it’s a question that’s requiring a legitimate answer, so she just laughs along and holds the vases out. “I know they’re kinda…dead. I think. Actually, I have no idea, but that’s beside the point.”

 

Beca sniffs and wipes the corners of her eyes while she’s struck with an occasional aftershock of giggles. Chloe finds it odd: Beca giggles. If anything, she guessed she’d be met with a chuckle, or a single “Ha.” It is pleasing, though, knowing positively that Beca is capable of at least one positive emotion, and having proof of such. In fact, she feels honored for being shown this part of Beca, even if it came out by mistake.

 

“Anyway,” Chloe continues, dropping her chin once again, this time bashfully, “Are you down for some carnival games?”


	6. Electricity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and you shall receive! :) Here's our first insight on Beca's point of view. At first, I had no clue where I was going with this fic, but in the span of the time it took for me to come up with this chapter, I decided the fate of it. Okay, maybe not all of it, but I have an idea of where I'm going and I'm super excited! So...look out for the plot twist! ;) But, please leave a comment and let me known what you think of the new direction. Enjoy!

** BECA **

 

Just for the record, Beca never planned on making friends with _any_ of her neighbors. Too many horror stories have been drawn from that exact scenario. For example: the nice boy next door who comes across a little too forward, but overall seems okay, who then ends up spying on you from their second floor window. Or there’s the pushy woman who brings over a pie and gossips about her coworkers and complains about her children, only to steal money from your purse after inviting you to her house for brunch.

 

 _Real life_ horror stories like that. No fuckin’ thanks. Beca had enough to deal with already.

 

She’d made the mistake before, though; she had to learn somehow. She had one neighbor – her first after leaving home, when she moved to Phoenix, Arizona – and she allowed herself to believe that they could be friendly with one another. He was nice, and as far as she could tell from his crew cut and Monday to Friday 9 to 5 schedule, as innocent as could be. He introduced himself the same day she settled in, and volunteered his help if she needed it – which she didn’t. Later that week, he invited her to hang out with him and some friends at an open mic night at some coffee shop downtown she’d not heard of yet. She wasn’t all that interested, but she was also tired of staring at the same four walls, and figured a little socialization couldn’t hurt. She wound up going, just for kicks. See what her neighbor was like, maybe make a few friends.

 

It was as boring as she’d expected.

 

All went well up until Beca began her training a few weeks into moving in, after she worked up the confidence to devote the time and energy. Unfortunately, Beca had underestimated the distance from her targets, maybe concentrated a little too hard, and the outcome – although nothing compared to the outcomes she’s been creating these days – was quite abrupt. A slight tremor shook the building, and maybe a small fire was started, but it was nothing Beca couldn’t handle. Come on, she had been doing this all her life – _of course_ she could handle it. What she couldn’t handle, was her nice, harmless neighbor banging on her door at seven in the morning calling her a hermit, accusing her of making _bombs_ in her apartment, and threatening to turn her in to the cops.

 

Again: no fuckin’ thanks. She was out and on her way to Austin, Texas the next week. That seemed to be the trend in the following cities. Austin was, in majority, liberal and full of college students, so she figured she’d be fine. Wrong: sleep deprived college students can be unusually cruel. From Austin she went to Shreveport, Louisiana, then to Jackson, Mississippi (where, she finds it necessary to note, her neighbors were at no fault, she left in order to guarantee her personal safety), then Huntsville, Alabama, and finally: Atlanta, Georgia, where she’s now rooming next to a wonderful redhead by the name of Chloe. And by ‘wonderful’ she means obsessive, occasionally irritating, and pushy. And she might be somewhat…a _lot_ attractive, but that’s beside the point. The point is: it doesn’t seem like Chloe’s about to boot or threaten her anytime soon.

 

“So how’s the practice going?” Stacie’s voice crackles through the tiny speaker of Beca’s cell.

 

Beca presses her phone firmly to her ear with her shoulder while she crawls beneath the metal tripod standing in her kitchen in order to tighten some screws on the hind leg. “Uhhhm,” she drawls to buy time, pondering for the right words to say that won’t worry Stacie, nor be an outright lie. “Loud. Pretty loud. And…” She blows air out from her teeth and turns a flathead screwdriver against a loose screw. “Fun! Always fun.”

 

“Alright, nice.” Stacie replies pleasantly, but Beca can feel the dreaded question creeping up on her like it always does: “How’ve you been progressing?”

 

 _Technically_ , Beca’s progression lately has been varied and bountiful. She successfully integrated a homemade solar panel onto her coffee machine, so that when sunlight strikes it in the morning, it begins brewing her coffee. (Maybe it’s not all that practical during the winter when the sun doesn’t rise until nearly eight, but during the summer, she’ll be set.) Additionally, she’s managed to create the tripod base – the base that she is tightening screws on at the moment – of her special telescope. She’s hoping to design and program the telescope to analyze energy levels of stars. Key word: _hoping_. It’s going to require some incredibly advanced technology that she’s not sure she’ll be able to imitate, but she’s determined, because having a telescope with those capabilities would be _so badass_. Oh, and can’t forget: she’s learning how to be a social butterfly, courtesy of her ever present ginger neighbor.

 

“I,” Beca says confidently, reaching out from beneath the tripod to pull her tool box closer, “have made _excellent_ progress on my coffee machine, actually. Thanks for asking!”

 

“ _Beca_ ,” Stacie chastises, sounding borderline hostile. It’s an awfully familiar tone – probably because Beca’s been exposed to it every week for the past year and a half. She still cringes _every_ time. “You need to be practicing, and getting stronger. I’m not going to be there to protect you next time they come looking for you. It was purely incidental that I was visiting you in Jackson the week they found you.”

 

Beca huffs and drops her tool for another. She inserts the proper screwdriver bit into her cordless drill, then proceeds to drill another screw into two unsteady conjoining pieces of metal. “What if I put some supernatural energy detectors or some shit like that on my next coffee machine?”

 

“I’m _serious_. You need to be able to defend yourself.” A pleading, desperate undertone can be heard in Stacie’s voice, and Beca wishes it wouldn’t send a twang of fear down her spine, but it does. She sets down her drill and safely escapes from beneath the tripod, then leans against the nearby kitchen counter with a loud exhale. “I know you’re into all that real life science bullshit, but this is important, too. We’ve been over this so many times: the coven wants you back. Like, _really_ bad. Seriously, I don’t know how they haven’t suspected me and tried to get info out of me yet.”

 

“It’s not bullshit, Stace, and you know it. And _don’t_ say that! If they hurt you, I’ll have to go set some bitches on fire.”

 

A chuckle echoes through the phone. “Yeah, I do know. But you know just as well as I do that the coven is _supposed_ to come first. Which also means _not_ setting each other on fire.” She pauses after Beca laughs harshly. “Okay, _outside_ of training, you’re not really supposed to set other users on fire.”

 

“Just because it’s s _upposed_ to be that way does not mean that’s how it _has_ to be.” Beca quips with a smirk that Stacie can’t see, but definitely can hear through Beca’s words.

 

“Yeah, you’re a prime example of the truth in that statement.”

 

Beca remains silent, instead choosing to retrieve her the earlier forgotten screwdriver and watch her hand twirl it around. She’s not sure if she should be hurt by Stacie’s comment or not, but she’s too distracted to overthink it.

 

Stacie sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, Becs, I’m proud of you for all you’ve done. I get why you left, and I support you. I wish I had the guts to do the same. But look, if you’re going to _live_ , you need to know how to defend yourself.”

 

Beca acknowledges Stacie’s words with a hum and allows her to continue lecturing. Having Stacie lecture her is something she’ll never be used to; it’s like they’ve switched roles since Beca departure from the coven. As teenagers living in the coven’s boarding house, _she_ would be the one keeping _Stacie_ in line. Telling her to do her do her warm-up spells before lessons, to clean up the mess made by her failed love potion attempts, to stay away from certain boys and reminding her that magic can’t cure STD’s. Now, here she is, wishing she could break away from the magic herself, being chided by Stacie all the while and constantly reminding her that doing so is basically impossible, that the magic is always going to be there, burning her up inside.

 

Steely eyes stare down at the red and black screwdriver in her hand, and an idea drifts into her head. She doesn’t know why she allows it to have such influence, seeing as it contradicts her recent and better judgement, but the urge to act on it is nearly irresistible, and the draw is enough to block out Stacie’s voice as she glares down at the metal and wills it to rise. Just simple levitation – it shouldn’t require too much energy. Before she realizes what’s happening, Beca feels her heart speed up and a surplus of energy surge from her chest to her hand.

 

In a split second, the flathead tip angles towards the ceiling, and the tool is flying out of her hand and lodging itself through the ceiling, all the way to the handle. Following the perforation comes a surprised shriek from the floor above. Beca stares up at it with wide eyes and her jaw to the floor. _That_ is going to be a fun one to explain to Chloe.  


“You just have to learn to control it, Becs.”

 

Her body buzzes and her vision brightens, allowing her to see colors more vibrantly and to see auras emanating from certain objects – a side effect of using the magic – but she knows she’s going to get a killer headache as soon as the energy begins its retreat back to its origin. She rests her free hand on her hip and scoffs into the phone, “Yeah, no kidding.”

 

…

 

** CHLOE **

 

After Beca accepted her invitation to spend an evening at the carnival, Chloe ran back up to her apartment to thank her best friend for her help with the orchids – they did the best they could, after all – and Aubrey had proceeded to search every inch of social media for said brunette in hopes of conducting a thorough investigation over Chloe’s ‘date.’

 

_“You mean ‘stalking’?”_

_“Don’t be rude, Chloe.”_

_“And it is not a date!”_

_“Whatever you say.”_

Yet, Aubrey found nothing. Chloe was slightly disappointed; she hoped to see pictures of Beca posed at the beach with a dripping ice cream cone in her hand, or images of her and some friends from a long time ago with the caption, “Miss them!” beneath with a couple yellow heart emojis. Any little insight into the girl’s past would be greatly appreciated. Is Chloe surprised at the lack of Beca-centered social media pages? Not at all. In light of this, however, Chloe decides that she’s going to be the one to expose Beca to all the fun things worthy of being shared on social media. Although, it might be a while before she’s close enough to make that happen.

 

Chloe kind of feels like a bad friend for not inviting Aubrey to go with them, but in complete honesty, she’s worried the blonde’s presence would cause Beca to shut the gates that Chloe’s been working diligently to pry open. She’s hoping to use the evening together to get Beca to open up more, and she shared that bit with Aubrey to assure her that she’s not maliciously excluding her.

 

_“Chloe, don’t even worry. I totes get it.”_

_“…You get what, exactly?”_

_“We don’t have to discuss that right now. Just know that it’s okay, alright?”_

 

She has an idea about what Aubrey had been alluding to, but Chloe’s glad the subject is dropped quickly. She hasn’t stopped to think about what her attraction to Beca means, and she definitely doesn’t want to discuss it right now. She needs time to ponder it herself before talking to Aubrey about it. Aubrey does apparently seem to know that already, and she’s withholding judgment, which takes a massive weight off Chloe’s shoulders and instead leaves her with a great adoration for her best friend. But before leaving, Aubrey dropped an offhanded remark suggesting that Chloe clean her apartment, _just in case_ Beca comes over after.

 

_“Just in case, you know?”_

_“Aubrey!”_

_“In case you two want to have some hot chocolate or something, geez! Get your mind out of the gutter.”_

Needless to say, it planted a seed in Chloe’s mind that would not let her rest until she had on a pair of rubber gloves and wielded a rag and Pledge canister in either hand. She dusted the tables, desks, window ledges and window frames, then swept, vacuumed the carpets, and mopped the kitchen tile. Her mother always told her that cleaning house was also a way of cleansing the soul. It sounded like absolute bullshit – and still does – but once Chloe stands to survey the shiny, pristine apartment, she swells with pride. _She made that happen_. That’s the moment she begins to understand; it might not cleanse the soul, per say, but it definitely hacks away at built up stress.

 

Sighing contently, she’s starting towards her bathroom to take a shower when a glare of white catches her attention. She diverts her route to inspect the misplaced item in her newly organized household, hiding beneath her couch.

 

“Oh!” She chirps, “These are…” She bends down to pull out a sheet of paper from under her couch, and the action is met with an unpleasant _rip_. “ _Shit_. These are Aubrey’s anatomy notes.” She drops to her knees to stretch her arm further beneath the couch. Right as her hand grips the remaining packet of paper, something shoots up through the ground and nearly pokes her eye out. With a shriek, she flies backwards and lands on her bottom, hissing out curse words like a sailor.

 

“What the _fuck_?” She whispers, perplexed and terrified, while she slowly recovers and heaves herself up into a crouching position to examine the object that just stabbed through her carpet. Had she been a few centimeters closer to the ground, she would have been injured. “Is that….a _screwdriver_?”

 

She puts the pieces together as quickly and sensibly as she can: smart, violently experimental first floor neighbor, plus a variety of tools to use to create and prepare experiments, equals…potential screwdrivers through her floor? _That kind of makes sense, right?_

Instead of forgetting about the screwdriver incident – which she couldn’t do even if she wanted to – Chloe figures she should probably go down stairs to check on her neighbor. Even if it should be the other way around, Chloe thinks offhandedly. She’s not upset, really – though she could have gone without a hole in her floor. She’s fine. In fact, now she is equal parts intrigued and genuinely worried for her well-being, as well as Beca’s. She slips on her shoes with a gulp, and makes her way out the door and down the stairs.

 

To her utmost surprise, Beca is opening the door before Chloe has the chance to knock on it. _That’s a first._

 

“If you didn’t want to go to the carnival, you could have just said so.” Chloe giggles nervously, hoping she’s not coming off rude, or like any of Beca’s old neighbors (even if she does think that she has the right to freak out a _little_ ). It seemed like a good, lighthearted way to start the conversation, but her statement is ignored completely.

 

Beca hurries over and looks her up and down in a worrisome manner, appearing frazzled and guilty. Her typically timid hands move like they want to hold Chloe’s face, but she stops them. “Are you okay? Shit, I am so sorry, that was a _complete_ accident.” In her frenzy, her eyes flicker wildly over Chloe’s face. They seem much more blue; brighter, almost, and Chloe can’t help but think that they look like electricity. (She blames her outlandish metaphors on her adoration for literature). _Maybe it’s just the lighting?_ Beca is apparently out to give Chloe a heart attack today, especially after actually laughing at Chloe’s horrible pun, because the brunette brings a hand up to gently run a thumb lightly along Chloe’s cheekbone, and uses the other hand to grasp Chloe’s arm and examines it from her palm to her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

 

Chloe blinks a few times and tries to avoid her gaze, lest she fall into a trance, or gets electrocuted via eye contact. “What? No, no, I’m fine. No injuries here. Are _you_ okay?”

 

The brunette nods hastily and drops her hands. Chloe immediately misses the modest contact.

 

After a moment of silence, full of mutual relief, Chloe guesses it’s a good time to get some answers. “So, if you don’t mind me asking…how did a screwdriver get launched into my floor?” She smiles, hoping it conveys an easygoing vibe. She really doesn’t want Beca to think she’s upset with her and shut her out because of this.

 

Beca laughs awkwardly and pushes her hair back. “Uhm…just a mishap with a machine. I uh…I lost control.” She stares down at her toes and shuffles her feet. Her head snaps up, “I’ll totally pay for the damage, because…you know, it’s my screwdriver and all.”

 

“Oh, I’m not worried about that!” She waves her hand nonchalantly. “Are you sure you’re alright? You seem kind of flustered.” Chloe swallows thickly and dips her head, urging Beca to look her in the eye. She does.

 

“Yeah, I’m good. It was just a little scary, but I’m okay.” Her hands jam into her pockets and she offers a small smile to reinforce her ‘okay-ness.’

 

Chloe smiles and nods. She tucks her hair behind her ears and quirks an eyebrow playfully. “So you’re not cancelling on me?”

 

“Nope!” Beca replies immediately, her face remaining neutral. Chloe almost feels self-conscious, but a second later, with a tap of her toes on the concrete, the brunette adds: “Never.”

 

Her smile widens. Thoroughly enjoying the light banter, she dares the girl, “Never, huh? I’ll hold you to that.”

 

Beca laughs openly – something Chloe swears she’s never going to get used to – and nods acceptingly. “Tomorrow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Ferris Wheel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I got a review over the last chapter (on FF) about Chloe getting more stupid every chapter, and I just wanted to clarify: that was not my intention. I apologize if it came off that way, and please let me know if it continues and how I might fix it. With the new character development with Beca, I've grown much more interested in the story itself, and am trying to crank chapters out as much as I can. Comments are so so so appreciated, so let me know what you all think! :) Thanks for reading! (Also, this isn't edited very much, I'm tired of looking at it, so please excuse the mistakes).

** CHLOE **

 

Chloe has always loved carnivals. Carnivals, fairs, and all those outdoorsy, occasionally sketchy, yet always exciting events. She considers them an essential and adored characteristic of her childhood. She likes to test how far her guts will take her - because to be honest, some of the rides she’s encountered have creaked way too much for comfort. But....she rode them anyway, and continues to ride the rickety metal monsters; the adrenaline rush and memories earned are worth it.

 

Her favorite memories stem from afternoons spent at the local fairgrounds with her sister, Serah. It would take an eternity of begging, and promising their mother they’d do extra chores the following day, but they managed to prevail every time. Their mother liked to act stern, simply to fulfill the supposed duties of being a mother, but Chloe could always see the childish gleam in her blue eyes when her two girls came to her, craving adventure. Minutes later, the two would be skipping and singing their way out the door, a ten dollar bill for both of them stuffed in their pockets, and their mother following happily behind with car keys jingling in her hand.

 

When Serah got her driver’s license at 16, the carnival trips fell to her lap. The rare times she and Chloe would argue, Serah threatened to leave Chloe home the next time the carnival came, but she knew that would never happen. It was tradition; Serah actually passed up going with friends on more accounts than one just so she could attend with Chloe. After Serah went off to college, Chloe turned her cross hairs on Aubrey, her new carousel victim.

“I do admit: this seems to be a bigger deal than I thought.” Beca nods, impressed with the long line leading up to the ticket booth. Her eyes trail from there to the huge multi-colored balloon arc serving as an entrance.

 

“Of course! The carnival only comes every once in awhile, so people come out when they can.” Says Chloe, shuffling up in life after the family in front breaks away from the line with their tickets.

 

Their distance to the ticket booth has shortened, but the line behind them only grows as the time goes on. Chloe surveys Beca's appearance shamelessly while meandering up the depending line of customers. To her benefit, Beca’s still staring into the mystical world they’re about to enter. The brunette's top is black with a high neckline, but dotted with small studs that add a feminine touch to it. She’s paired it with dark skinny jeans and grey Keds. The entire outfit is harmonious and not something she'd have expected to see Beca in, but she's not complaining. Maybe she needs to learn to expand her opinions of the brunette, in light of all the hat tricks she's been pulling in the past couple days. “Cute bracelet, by the way,” she compliments upon noticing the silver charm bracelet around the girl's wrist, a few indistinguishable charms dangling from the links. “Where did you get it?”

 

Beca turns to her, seemingly taken off guard and yanked out of her carnival-induced trance by the question. Self-consciously, she begins fiddling with the chain. “Oh, this? My sister gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. She has one, too.”

 

“You have a sister?” She spots the opportunity to remove some more of Beca’s chain-link armor and capitalizes upon it. This - family - Chloe could talk about for ages.

 

Beca’s mouth opens silently until she decides to reveal: “Er, well, half sister, actually,” she delivers with a petite smile. Her hand comes to a rest atop the bracelet, a peaceful haze coming across her face as though she’s reminiscing. Chloe desperately wants to learn about the memories that are making the typically sullen girl smile so serenely. Movement ahead of her catches Beca’s attention and the haze is wafted away, her attention now split. “Oh, looks like we’re next.”

 

Before the brunette can step up to slide enough money for two tickets beneath the glass, Chloe hops in front of her and beats her to it. She looks behind her shoulder with a wink, “I invited you! This is my treat.” She can’t help but giggle at Beca’s scandalized expression. Thirty dollars pass beneath the glass: ten for the entrance tickets, and the rest for game tickets.

 

“Maybe I wanted to pay! You already bought Taco Bell, it’s my turn.”

 

Chloe thanks the woman inside the booth with a smile and takes the tickets, then decides to take a chance upon turning around and hooks her arms through Beca’s. The arm she holds hostage remains straight as a steel beam.

 

“Taco Bell was also my idea, remember?” She stores the tickets in the small purse strapped across her torso after they’re allowed in. They trot further into the venue, taking in the variety of different game booths, squinting against the bright lights coming from the rides and signs, and breathing in the smell of fried foods. Chloe inhales deeply and sighs out happily. This is her shit. “Now, what should we do first?”

 

The glare Beca shoots her tells her that the change in subject does not go unnoticed. “I have no idea. You’re the one with all the ideas, you tell me. I’ve never been to a carnival.”

 

“You’ve never been to a carnival?” Chloe all but shouts, moving to hold Beca by her shoulders. How, she wants to ask and shake the answer out of her companion. She needs to remember that, oh yeah, not everyone grew up the same as she did. The brunette’s mouth comes together in a tight smile and her eyebrows raise, expressing her lack of connection with Chloe’s current excitement.

 

“We are doing everything.” Chloe says breathlessly, and she swears she sees her own eyes sparkling in the reflection from Beca’s eyes. After a moment of hesitation, Beca’s smile slowly begins to spread into one of adventure, anticipation, and likely anxiety. Aubrey’s told her before that she can be a bit...intense when she gets excited. Like Aubrey is one to talk.

 

Chloe leads Beca to the long row of game booths. The first one they stumble upon is being run by a teenage boy with shaggy hair and a frown radiating teen angst. He sighs and demands a few game tickets, until he actually looks at Chloe and a shy, goofy grin shatters his facade. He hands over twelve hollow plastic balls with holes in them - four more than they paid for. (Chloe firmly believes that being kind never goes without a reward of some sort). They each take six and move in front of the game board: simply a large plank with holes in it, painted with various colors and labelled with score numbers.

 

“Now this is some seriously impressive engineering,” Beca remarks sarcastically.

 

“You’re not going to be making fun of it when you lose!” Chloe says, hoping to invoke a bit of friendly rivalry. Or not so friendly.

 

“Uh, excuse you, ma’am. Sorry to break it to you, but I don’t lose.” Beca says cockily.

 

Chloe laughs abruptly. “Game on, smarty-pants. Why don’t you go first then?” She swings over and nudges the brunette with her hip.

 

The falter in Beca’s confidence makes Chloe snicker. “I would...but - since you are the Carnival Queen, I think you should go,” she suggests.

 

“Why? Scared I'm going to make you look bad by going after you?” Chloe jokes, making Beca turn to her with a lifted eyebrow and a challenge in her eyes.

 

“Fine. I’ll go.” Beca retaliates, smirking, “You are going down.”

 

** BECA **

 

“That game is rigged.”

 

“Oh, quit your pouting,” Chloe teases, digging into a chocolate and cherry drizzled funnel cake, courtesy of Beca.

 

“The balls they give you can barely squeeze through those holes!”

 

After multiple rounds of trying and failing to score at least one ball through a hole in the game board, Beca had proceeded to insist that there was no way anyone could win this game. She bet Chloe that if the redhead could make some points, Beca would buy dinner. Of course the redhead made ten points with her first toss. And fifteen with the next. So on and so forth. Beca’s not mad; she’s just a sore loser.

 

Chloe’s bright blue eyes gleam at her in the bright lights from all around. “I must have a gift for pointless carnival games.” And sure, Beca thinks, that’s probably true, but it’s not the only thing Chloe is gifted in. She can tell that much just from the small amount of time she’s spent with her. Not only is she attractive and well versed in the literary world - she makes book references every so often that fly right over Beca’s head until she stops to think about it - the girl is also a social butterfly. She actually manages to make Beca feel more comfortable out in public. She notices every so often that she’s actually feeling relaxed, and isn’t looking behind her back every two minutes for a reason to run back home.

 

Although, that might not be for the best. Just because she’s with Chloe doesn’t mean she’s any safer. The coven is still looking for her, according to Stacie, and the way it sounds, they probably won’t mind having to sweep up a casualty or two. If Chloe gets hurt - or killed - because of Beca, on top of everything else the coven has planned, she doesn’t know what she’d do. She does know that the end result will not be pretty.

 

Beca takes a big bite of funnel cake, the white sugar melting in her mouth. Chloe sets her plastic fork down and begins to look around. The setting sun is emanating an orange glow upon everything it’s rays touch, including Chloe. Her auburn hair and flushed cheeks shine prettily, and geez, her eyelashes are long. She is literally glowing. The longer Beca stares, the more unnatural it seems - like, yeah, the lighting is superb, but Chloe really should not have a ring of burnt orange surrounding her body. Beca wonders if she reaches out, if she’ll feel heat coming off the seemingly molten aura.

 

Chloe turns to look at her. Her head jerks back slightly in surprise. “Beca, your eyes…” She squints and leans in for a closer look.

 

Oh shit. Future reference, Beca: if it looks magical, it probably is magical. In her daze, she’d lost track of her power and it began to involuntarily enable her to see Chloe’s aura. Thinking back to her studies at the boarding house, it makes so much sense: orange refers emotions, vitality, excitement, social nature, adventure, and other aspects that just scream Chloe.

 

Beca shakes her head and shuts her eyes immediately, opening them only after she feels the rush of the magic subside. Her cheeks catch fire. “Uuuh...sorry,” she sputters,  “I didn’t mean to stare.”

 

“No, it’s not that...your eyes looked different. Brighter. More blue.”

 

Beca laughs awkwardly. She needs to divert Chloe’s attention. “Ha, yeah, must be...wow, you know whose eyes are really blue? Yours.” She spits out. She doesn’t formulate her sentences, she just wants to forget about her slip up. “Hey, is there a ferris wheel? We should go totally on the ferris wheel.” (Coincidentally, she’d been waiting for an excuse to bring up the ferris wheel).

 

Chloe frowns, and Beca can see the uncertainty and brimming curiosity edging along the contours of her face. There’s even a hint of agitation, and it shakes Beca to her core. For whatever reason, she doesn’t think she can handle Chloe being upset with her right now. She wills Chloe just to let it go, to forget about it, because she cannot explain that right now. She doesn’t want to. Chloe is intrigued, though, she can see the questions dancing on her lips, so she quickly makes a mental note to keep hold of her magic a little tighter around Chloe, lest the girl start asking questions. A small smile breaks the tension in the girl’s features and she softly agrees, “Yeah. Let’s go.”

 

The short, quiet walk there gives Beca time to feel guilty. The prominent issue is that she doesn't know exactly why she feels guilty. She didn’t lie. What is she supposed to do? Tell Chloe she’s a witch? Tell her she’s an unstable witch who can’t control her own powers and who’s being chased by the coven she ran away from? It doesn’t sound like a very appealing conversation topic.

 

“Tell me about your sister.” Beca requests when they reach the line. Another line.

 

Chloe grips her purse strap and smiles sweetly. Obviously, that was the perfect topic; much better than one involving witches.

 

“Her name is Serah, and she’s 25. She went to the University of Texas at Austin to attend the School of Architecture. Now, she’s working in Dallas to help design new schools.” Her tone is loving and respectful. “My mom used to take us to carnivals like this as kids. That’s why I love them so much, actually.”

 

The line moves forward enough for them to board the ferris wheel and sit side by side. “What about your half sister?” Chloe inquires.

 

“Hmm.” Beca starts, gazing out as they’re jolted to a start and begin circling upwards. “She lives in Montana with our, um, our mother. And the rest of the family. She’s a year older, and she got all the height genes.” Chloe laughs gently, paying close attention to Beca while she looks down and around the carnival. “She visited me before I moved here, but we don’t get to talk that much.” Beca’s head falls to watch her fingers play with her bracelet. She misses her sister so much it makes her chest ache, but it’s not safe to frequently communicate. They can only manage one call every three weeks or so, but it’s not nearly enough. She’s her best friend, they stuck with each other throughout all the years at the boarding house, and being separated by such a distance for so long has been incredibly difficult.

 

Chloe seems to sense the change in mood, and dips her head to get Beca’s attention. “I’m sorry, Becs. I know it must be difficult. I can’t begin to imagine what that would be like.” Beca smiles, but it doesn’t ease the heart ache. Chloe’s right; she can’t imagine. Anger begins to bubble up inside her, until Chloe’s hand enters her vision and covers the hand fidgeting with her charm bracelet. “I just...I really hope you know that you’re not alone, Beca. I know we had a rocky start, but if you’ll let me, I’ll be here for you as long as I can.” And just like that, the anger vanishes.

 

She lifts her head and smiles her appreciation at Chloe. “I’ll think about it,” she says jokingly - because God forbid she have an actual heart warming moment in her life - and gently rubs her thumb against Chloe’s palm. “Thank you, Chloe.”

 

Chloe’s breathing pauses for a moment. “That’s the first time you’ve said it.”

 

“Said what?” Beca asks in return, squinting against the setting sun.

 

“My name. You haven’t said it before.”

 

Beca’s eyebrows shoot up. “I haven’t?” It doesn't sound like something that should affect the two of them so much, but it does. Beca sees how Chloe’s eyes sparkle at the new sound of it, and upon acknowledging the fact, a pounding in Beca’s chest alerts her that maybe it is a special moment. She internally rolls her eyes at herself; special moment. What is up with her lately?

 

“Nope,” Chloe laughs. “Sorry, that was really random.”

 

“That’s alright,” Beca assures her, “It is a pretty big deal.”

 

They smile at each other as the ferris wheel turns onto its second loop. Chloe makes her feel giddy, and Beca has never felt giddy before. She hadn’t a clue what it was even supposed to feel like until a minute ago. It’s nice, but also terrifying. Beca’s known since she left the coven that she has to be careful of who she associates with, and for how long. No best friends, no strings attached, no problems. She was breaking all those rules, consciously, and she couldn’t bring herself to care all that much.

 

“You never told me your sister’s name.” Chloe reminds her.

“Oh yeah! I don’t know how I forgot that part. Her name is Stacie.”


End file.
